


The blackness in my eyes, the hurt in your voice

by iulia_florentina



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Festivals, Fluff and Smut, Gentleness, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I have no idea how to tag, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Misunderstandings, Neck Kissing, Original Character(s), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, because I am a sap, through a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_florentina/pseuds/iulia_florentina
Summary: A song can tell so many untold stories for those who are willing to listen.At the brick of down one windy day, Gerald hears Jaskier sing a song he never heard before and wonders: Is he maybe the fool? If so, was it too late to make it right? Or his actions spoke louder than his words ever could?All those questions die when Jaskier bleeds and all Gerald can see is black before his eyes. Maybe he is such a fool after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 354





	1. One windy night

The sun was long gone and the vicious cold wind of the night ruffled the trees. The forest was alive with the song of the dark creatures that tried to lure their pray closer. Tonight, though, no creature dared to come out from their hiding place as Jaskier murmured songs on end, playing his lute.

Geralt didn’t mind too much. He hated the silence more.

No more than a clock or two, they existed the forest and the village came into view.

“Finally,” Jaskier exhaled. “My feet hurt like hell.”

Geralt hummed and tied Roach’s strings, taking his bag. By the time he entered the inn, Jaskier had already paid for a room and was sitting at a table, eating from a plate of warm steaming food, another one placed just across from his. Geralt scanned the room, taking into view the half empty inn with people too drunk to go home this late at night, then took a sit and began eating his dinner or early breakfast.

Once Jaskier finished his meal, he stood up and, along with his lute, he started singing. Geralt watched him from time to time as the bard's dance and voice turned every gaze in the room. With every smile and wink from the bard, the people smiled back or growled in annoyance, but still stood and listened to his songs. By the end of the third song, Jaskier began to receive requests, and the owner of the inn, on which Geralt kept a close eye, stepped back from his way of stopping the bard, when he saw that the people started asking and paying for more drinks and food.

When Geralt finished his meal and his ale, he stood up and caught Jaskier’s eye. He nodded and the bard nodded back, carrying on with his song, as Geralt walked up the stairs to the room. He knew he had about two clocks of rest until the creature would start hunting again. Not even bothering to take off his armor, Geralt dropped on the bed and fell asleep.

When he woke up, Jaskier wasn’t in the room. Geralt growled standing up, his muscles still asleep. He blinked a few times, chasing away the sleep from his eyes, then took his swords and left the room.

As he was walking down the stairs, he could hear the voice of the bard murmuring a song, barely touching the lute.

“Hey, bard,” a hard voice called. It made Jaskier stop singing.

Geralt stopped half-way down the stairs and listened, his hand slowly reaching for the sword.

“My wife left me for a younger fellow,” the man said. “I loved that witch with all my being, but she didn’t even look at me when she left. Sing me something, bard.”

There was silence for a few moments and then Jaskier started playing his lute and his voice sounded harsh. It sounded hurt.

_The fairer sex, they often call it  
But her love's as unfair as a crook  
It steals all my reason  
Commits every treason  
Of logic, with naught but a look_

Geralt listened, but he couldn’t recognize the song. To be honest, he didn’t know Jaskier’s every song, but he could tell if he heard it before or not. This one, though, he hasn't heard Jaskier play before. He never heard Jaskier sing so angry before, and when Geralt was about to walk the rest of the way down, the tone in Jaskier’s voice changed.

_Her current is pulling you closer  
And charging the hot, humid night  
The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool  
Better stay out of sight_

Geralt’s dead silent heart hurt with one beat and his chest tightened.

_I'm weak my love, and I am wanting  
If this is the path I must trudge  
I welcome my sentence  
Give to you my penance  
Garrotter, jury and judge_

When the song ended, Geralt heard the man stand up and walk to the door of the inn.

“Sounds like you know what I’m talking about.” The man said. “But I think we are the actual fools, bard. We are the fools.” And with that he walked out.

Geralt straightened his shoulders and walked the rest of the way down. When he got to the door, Jaskier called his name.

“You’re leaving so early?” the bard said.

Geralt turned around and looked at his face. It was red all the way down to his neck. Maybe because he was tired after singing all night, maybe he was drunk, Geralt couldn’t tell.

“Hm.”

Jaskier nodded, took his lute and climbed up the stairs without saying another word. Geralt sighed and walked out.

Two days later, they were back on the road and as they were waking, Geralt beside Roach, holding her by the strings, and Jaskier two steps back, the witcher couldn’t stop playing that song over and over again in his head. Was he the fool Jaskier was talking about? That could not be. It didn’t make any sense. But if so, was it too late to change the bard’s opinion about him? Or his action spoke loud enough than his words now ever could? And again, why did he care so much was Jaskier thought of him? He didn’t.

Stepping deeper and deeper into the woods, the night began to fall yet again upon them. This time, though, it seemed that their way to another village would take more than the night could hold, so Geralt found a good place to camp and stopped. Jaskier didn’t stop his murmuring and just placed his lute at his back and ran off to collect wood.

Once their camp was settled and the fire was burning hot, warming their hands, Geralt took a sit next to Jaskier on the old trunk he found.

Jaskier looked up at him and a smile played on his lips. “You still smell of intestines.”

Geralt hummed. Jaskier smelled of chamomile and vanilla, but Geralt kept that statement for himself.

“Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me how that went. Did it swallow you whole or you chopped it open? Oh! Did it explode?”

Jaskier was still rambling on, when Geralt heard a sound coming from behind them. He slowly turned his head and caught in the corner of his eye something shining in the shy light of the moon. Without any hesitance, Geralt stood up, caught the handle of his sword and spoon around. What he didn’t take into consideration was that Jaskier wouldn’t react as fast and, before the Witcher could drag him away, the arrow hit the bard.

Jaskier growled in pain and fell sideways on the ground.

Without thinking, Geralt emptied a bottle of potion he had in the pocket of his armor and stroke for the attacker. Every arrow coming his way landed in half on the ground with every swing of his sword and the archer’s head was rolling in the grass, soaked in blood, with his eyes still open, within less that a man could blink. Still, even seeing him dead didn’t feel enough for Geralt, so his sword cut and stroke a few more time until the witcher heard Jaskier yelling.

Geralt turned his head around through the fog that clouded his mind and sight, he saw Jaskier standing beside him, holding a hand on the right side if his chest, his blue clothing now covered in a dark-brown stain. When Geralt turned his eyes back to the bard’s face and, before he could fully understand what was happening, Jaskier slapped him. Geralt blinked. Certainly, Jaskier felt the slap more than Geralt did, but even so, the bard didn’t show it.

“Geralt! Snap out of it, you bastard!”

The bard was breathing hard, his eyes holding tears. Geralt stood frozen in place, watching Jaskier break in his hand the head of the arrow, a whimper escaping his lips. The witcher approached slowly and helped Jaskier stand.

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.” The brad said.

“Fuck.” Geralt said.

As fast as he could, Geralt packed up their things and helped Jaskier on Roach, heading to the nearest village. By the time they found the healer, Jaskier had his eyes closed, his breath uneven. Geralt put a arm under his legs and one around his waist and kicked the door open.

“Heal him.” Was all he said as he put Jaskier down and tossed a bag of coins at the healer.

She looked once at Geralt and then turned to Jaskier, holding a bowl of something green in her hands. Geralt stepped outside and waited by Roach for the healer to do her job. His eyes hurt with every blink meaning the potion hasn’t wore off yet.

After a few long moments, the healer stepped out. “You can take him. There’s not much I can do. Change the bandages every day and he should be fine.”

Geralt nodded. He walked inside, took Jaskier in his arms again and nodded towards the healer before he left.

Their way to the inn was paved with strange looks, gasps and whispering. Geralt didn’t pay attention to any of them. His muscles felt tired and he was glad the inn keeper did not protest long before giving them a room.

As he was placing Jaskier down on the bed, the bard growled low in his throat and Geralt paused. Jaskier slowly opened his eyes and blinked lazily at him, before closing them back and falling asleep. Geralt sighed and took his arms away. He quietly undress off his armor and took a blanket from his bag which he placed on the floor near the bed, sleep coming slow but hard.

The sound of squeaking wake Geralt up. He opened his eyes to see Jaskier trying to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Geralt asked, his voice startling Jaskier.

The bard lower his gaze at him and swallowed hard once. “I’m thirsty.”

Geralt placed a hand on his knee to stop him from getting up. “I’ll go get breakfast. Stay here.”

After he made sure Jaskier ate his food, Geralt when down and asked the inn keeper if she could fetch them a bath. Once the bath was ready, Geralt offered support as Jaskier undressed slowly and helped him into the water, keeping an arm under his right shoulder so the bandages won’t get wet.

Jaskier was oddly quiet as he bathed, but Geralt didn’t dare ask why. When the bard said he was done, Geralt helped him stand and hold him as he dressed.

“I don’t have any clean tunics.” Jaskier said after he tied the knot on his pants.

Geralt nodded and walked to his bag to search through his clothes. When he found one that was clean enough, he stood and turned to Jaskier, but something made him froze in place. Jaskier was looking at him the same way he did that early morning when Geralt left for the hunt. His dark blue eyes looked and looked as if he was waiting for something to happen but also knew that it never will. And then Geralt remembered the song.

Slowly, with a steady pace, Geralt approached the bard, the tunic forgotten in his hand. When he showed no intention of giving it to Jaskier, the man raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?” he asked.

“That song.” Geralt said.

Jaskier frowned. “What song?”

“That song you sang a few nights ago.” Geralt said watching the expression on Jaskier’s face shift from confusion to fear. “Can you sing it to me?”

Jaskier swallowed hard and took a deep breath in. “Why now? I can’t play the lute because my hand hurts and I. . .”

“Just sing it.” Geralt gaze was fixed on Jaskier and carefully, he took a few steps closer. “Sing the song, Jaskier.”

The bard shivered and suddenly he seemed to notice that his chest was exposed. He wrapped his arms around his waist as much as the bandages let him and closed his eyes.

“The fairer sex, they often call it/ But her love's as unfair as a crook,” his voice was trembling, but he continued, nonetheless. Geralt took another step closer. “It steals all my reason/ Commits every treason/ Of logic, with naught but a look.” The bard stopped and swallowed again.

“Keep going,” Geralt said.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes even harder. “A storm breaking on the horizon/ Of longing and heartache and lust/ She's always bad news/ It's always lose, lose/ So tell me love, tell me love/ How is that just?”

Geralt took the last step and placed a hand on the bard’s neck. He felt the muscles tense under his palm. “Go on.”

Jaskier’s heart began to beat faster and faster with every verse and his voice turned into a whisper, until it broke into a whimper. “I'm weak my love, and I am wanting. . .”

At this time, Geralt’s hand traveled up to Jaskier’s burning skin of his cheek, where it remained resting, his thumb caressing the soft skin. Jaskier still refused to open his eyes.

“And you welcome your sentence, right?” Geralt asked in a low voice.

At his words, Jaskier opened his eyes and locked them with Geralt’s. “Right.”

“Why?”

Jaskier was taken aback. “What do you mean why?”

“Why, Jaskier?” Geralt asked again.

Jaskier turned his head away, but not too much that he would break way from Geralt’s touch. “Don’t make me say it.”

This time Geralt was the one who frowned. “What are you afraid it will happen if you say it?”

Their eyes met again and Jaskier’s heart began beating hard again. “That you won’t say it back,” Jaskier confessed.

Geralt felt himself smile. “What? That I am in fact the one weak and wanting?” Jaskier gasped but Geralt kept going. “You are not weak, Jaskier. You are the bravest man alive that I know.” When Jaskier open his mouth to protest, Geralt shook his head. “Yes, you are. You are the only one stupid enough to follow me around no matter how many times or reasons you had to bail by now.”

Jaskier raised his shoulders, but his lips cracked a smile.

“You are the only one who was brave enough to slap a witcher in the face mid fight with an arrow stuck in your chest.”

“Well, it hurt like hell and you weren’t listening to me.”

“My point exactly.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and his smile brightened. Looking at him, Geralt wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, even if they were slightly turning blue. So, he let go of Jaskier’s cheek, put the tunic, that Geralt was still holding, over the bard’s head and hand, smoothing it at his side, though it was clearly too large for the man. And, before Jaskier could properly open his eyes, Geralt learned in and kiss him once, capturing the bard’s whole lips in his.

When he pulled back, Jaskier hummed in protest and opened his eyes.

“Yours is not as sweet,” Geralt murmured with a smirk and Jaskier slapped him over his shoulder, offended, but smiling. “But it’s better.”

“Charming.” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

Rising on his tiptoes, Jaskier kiss Geralt as slow and hard as Geralt kissed him.

“Jaskier.” Geralt exhaled when the bard pulled back. “You should rest.”

Jaskier shook his head, his fists tightened in Geralt’s tunic, feeling the man’s muscles relax under his fingers. “I’m not tired.”

“Hm.” Geralt titled his head. “You need to heal.”

Before Jaskier could protest, Geralt circled his waist with his arms, pulled the man closer to his chest and carefully lifted him. In two big steps, Geralt crossed the room and dropped both of them on the bed. He buried his face in Jaskier’s neck without letting his weight on the bard’s chest.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.” Geralt said and closed his eyes.

“But Geralt.” Jaskier whined and shifted in Geralt’s arms, pressing his hips into Geralt’s thigh.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned.

When Jaskier whined again, Geralt ran his hand down the bard’s chest, resting his fingers on his crotch. Jaskier hummed and pressed harder into Geralt’s hand, moaning at the touch and grabbing onto Geralt’s shoulders. Clever fingers quickly pulled down Jaskier’s pants just enough to take him in his hand as the bard whispered loving praises into the witcher’s ear.

Geralt raised his head from the other man’s neck and captured his mouth, hot and wanting, kissing him over and over again until he could feel Jaskier trembling in his arms, then his whole body tensed and a long sighed escaped his throat.

It didn’t take long and soon, Jaskier was softly snoring at Geralt chest and for once in a long time Geralt’s mind was calm.


	2. A broken lute, a warm dance

Jaskier knew Geralt wasn’t much of a talker, he knew that, but he couldn’t suppress the ache of feeling pushed away when, on the morning after their _night together_ , the witcher woke up, put on his armor and, without even a hum, left the room.

When Jaskier thought about it on their way out of town, he realized that “pushed away” wasn’t describing the exact feeling floating in his stomach. He felt stupid. That was it. Stupid from the bottom of his long dead heart, which beat from time to time when life gave it small reasons to. Like the night before.

It was stupid of him to think that the famous witcher, the great Geralt of Rivia, wanted more than to get to _know_ him once. Once was enough. Jaskier was used to this kind of people and when the truth surfaced that in fact Geralt was the same, Jaskier wanted nothing more than to kick himself for being so weak. Nothing was worth having your breath die in your throat and your blood run cold through your veins. And that wasn’t the cause of the coldness of the mid-autumn day. The man was sure that if he could stick his hand through his chest and take his heart in his fist, the pour thing won’t even flinch.

But he wasn’t going to keep feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t survive through so much just to get beaten down by a broken heart. He could take more. Whatever happened, he could always take more.

So, now, walking down the path into whatever next adventure the fate would put before them, keeping a good distance between himself and Roach, lazily touching the strings of the lute with his fingertips, playing no exact melody, Jaskier tried to let the sounds wash away his shame and bury away the pain. The cold was worsening the ache in the left side of his chest and every movement of his left arm sent a shiver down his spine, weakening his knees. Taking deep breaths and letting his body shiver from time to time, Jaskier tried to hold back the urge to whimper. He was doing a pretty great job until, distracted by how dust jumped in the air with Roach’s every step, the man missed a step and tripped. He didn’t have much time to react and he landed on his stomach, but worse, he landed on the lute. At the impact with the ground, all the air was punched out of his lungs and a loud growl escaped his throat.

The bard stood up with difficulty and quickly exanimated his instrument. There were three wide cracks on its bottom and a string was broken. Jaskier almost wanted to cry looking at his lute, but it could’ve also been the pain digging in his chest. He wasn’t sure what felt worse.

“Are you alright?” Geralt deep voice came from above him.

Jaskier raised his head up and met Geralt’s spessartine eyes. They were darker that the night before. It could’ve been because of the sunlight. Catching himself staring, Jaskier put the broken lute at his back and dusted off his clothes.

“I’m fine.” He said.

Geralt hummed and his eyes flicked from Jaskier’s face to the left side of his chest. “Come here,” the Witcher said, gesturing Jaskier towards him.

“I said I’m fine.” Jaskier insisted.

Geralt looked back and caught his gaze. For a moment, the witcher frowned, then continued as if Jaskier said nothing. “I need to change your bandages.”

Before Jaskier could decline again, Gerald opened his bag and pulled out a new bandage, then took Jaskier backpack and lute from him, placing them near Roach and proceeded to take off Jaskier’s top.

The bard felt a wave of heat raising from his stomach and stepped back. “I’ll do it myself.”

Geralt growled low in his throat. “Stop being an idiot. I didn’t pay all the coin left just for you to waste all the bandages. Now, stay put.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. A waste. Alright. That was knew. But nothing he hasn’t heard before. Closing his eyes, Jaskier tried not to shiver at the touch of Geralt’s cold fingers on his warm skin and started thinking of ways he could repair his lute so he could pay back the coin Geralt spent on him. Constantly, he repeated himself that whatever happened, he was able to take in more.

“Does it hurt?” Geralt asked when he was done.

“No.” Jaskier lied.

Nodding, Geralt handed his things back and took hold of Roach’s strings, walking beside Jaskier. The bard wanted to go back to putting the reasonable distance between them, but however slow he tried to walk, Geralt matched his pace, so he eventually give up.

Soon enough, they ended up in another village where, even before they could properly step in, a young boy ran towards them and began pleading Geralt that he needed his help so, Jaskier was left alone. Not far, Jaskier spotted an inn and walked in, heading to the owner who was serving drinks.

“Good day, good sir!” Jaskier said, playing his best tone.

“What do you want?” came back the response.

It was already a bad start, but even with a broken lute and bleeding behind his clothes, Jaskier managed to seal a deal with the inn keeper. One single room, no food or drinks, just water, for one night, and also Jaskier had to entertain the crowd that night.

After they shook hands, Jaskier took off and started walking through the village, trying to find the blacksmith. It seemed that luck didn’t fully left him and he soon found the blacksmith’s workshop.

“Good day, good sir!” Jaskier said.

“What do you want?” came back the response.

Jaskier refrained himself from rolling his eyes and pulled out his lute. “How much will it cost to repair this?” he asked.

The large man wiped his hands on his black clothes and took the lute in his rough hands. He looked at it for a moment and then handed it back.

“This is wood. I cannot repair it.” He said and turned away from the bard.

“Are you sure? I’ll give you whatever you want. Just name it.”

“No. Leave.”

Defeated, Jaskier turned around and stepped out, letting his shoulders fall, action he instantly regretted. He looked at the broken lute in his hands and sighed, placing it back at his back. As he looked around for another alternative, a whistle came from his right side, making him turn. There, behind a corner of a building, stood a young girl, her blonde hair tied in a messy bun around which was wrapped a red cloth. Her face was covered in black spots and her blue gaze was fixed on Jaskier. She was waving him over. Confused, but curious, Jaskier walked towards her.

“Yes?” he said when he arrived in front of the young woman.

“I heard you would give anything to someone who could repair your lute?” her voice was soft, and her smile was shy. “I’m good at sculpting. I can make it as good as new in exchange for one small favor.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of favor would that be, my lady?”

Her gaze slowly fell to her hands then raised back to Jaskier’s. “There’s this celebration tomorrow night taking place in the square. Each girl must dance, as a tradition, a cheer in celebration of turning from a girl to a woman, but I don’t―” Her gaze fell again. Jaskier waited patiently for her to continue. “I don’t have a partner.”

At her confession, the man smiled. “And you’ll fix my lute if I dance with you at this celebration?”

“Yes.” She said without hesitation. “It would be better than a new one. I promise.”

Jaskier took a second to think about it. He knew that probably Geralt will be occupied with whatever beast he had to find and most certainly he will sleep half a day after that so, the bard turned back to the girl and nodded.

“Alright. We have a deal.”

Jaskier could see that she tried not to jump in excitement, which made him smile.

“Thank you!” she said and took the lute from the man. “I’ll bring it before the celebration.”

“Alright. Don’t be late.” Jaskier said and winked to which the girl smile widened. “Oh,” he stopped her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oliwia.”

Jaskier held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Oliwia. I’m Jaskier.”

And they shook hands.

Back at the inn, Jaskier was surprised to see Geralt standing at the bar, watching the door, catching his eyes the moment the bard stepped in. Jaskier sighed and walked to him.

“Is the beast dead so soon?” He asked, trying his best not to make eye contact more than a reasonable amount.

Geralt hummed. “It was gone when I arrived. I’ll go back in the morning.”

Jaskier nodded. “Well, good. Here you go.” He said handing him the key to the room. “You can sleep now. I will when you leave.”

Geralt looked at the key and then back at Jaskier. “What are you going to do?”

“Entertain the people,” the bard said, extending his arm towards the people at the tables. The movement sent a wave of pain up his spine, making him almost choke, but he swallowed it and shook it off.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not healed yet.” He said, then pulled back a little and looked Jaskier all over. “Where is your lute?”

“It’s broken. And I feel fine. I’ll earn us some coins.”

Before he could turn around, Geralt caught his wrist. “There’s no need for that.”

No matter how willing Jaskier was to keep it for himself, his mouth opened before he could stop it. “After you spent all your coins on my bandages, there is.”

He pulled his arm away and walked to the corner of the room where stood another bard with a timbrel and greeted him with a smile. The two played until Jaskier’s throat became sore and his fellow’s arm fell asleep from the exhaustion. By the time the dawn came, there were only three man passed out at the tables.

“Good job, boys,” the inn keeper’s wife came towards them with two cups filled with fresh cold water.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, then emptied the cup in one sip. “About tonight―”

The woman raised a hand. “No worries. Your friend paid for the room along with a breakfast and a bath. I already arranged them in your room.”

Jaskier frowned and then his face fell. He nodded as the woman turned back and left, then he cursed under his breath. Fucking Geralt. He had to go and be the big hero for no reason. It pissed him off.

Walking up the stairs, Jaskier counted the coin he made the night before and smiled, pleased with himself that he could almost pay Geralt back for the healer. But now he had to pay back the bath and food as well, which meant he had to finish with Oliwia quite soon if he wanted to have a crowd big enough tonight.

Once he stepped into the warm water with his bely full, a long heavy sigh traveled through his whole body. It was still early to start dressing up for the celebration, but Jaskier knew that if he fell asleep now, for sure he’ll not be able to wake up in time for it. So, he just stood in the bath until the water began to cold, then washed his hair as best as he could, careful not to wet the bandages and then got out.

It was around noon when Jaskier began preparing. Once he looked decent enough, he began walking back to the place where he met Oliwia the other day. Nonetheless, the girl was standing in the same spot, holding the lute in her hands. She was dressed in a long cherry like color dress, with long sleeves that completely covered her hands. At the end of each sleeve there were gold flowers embroidered in a beautiful delicate pattern. Her hair was braided at her back and Jaskier could see her whole face, which now was clean of black spots. Her blue eyes scanned the road and immediately softened when they landed on the bard.

“You came,” she said as Jaskier stopped in front of her.

“I promised I will, didn’t I?” He said with a smile, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “My lady. May I say you look beautiful this early evening.”

She smiled and moved her gaze away, blushing slightly. “I repaired the lute.” She said after a moment.

Jaskier took it from her hands and ran his fingers over the old covered up cracks. “You did a fine job. You have talent.”

“Thank you!”

“So,” Jaskier said, putting the lute at his back. “Where is this dance?”

Oliwia took a deep breath in. “The people are making the last preparations in the old square. It should start soon.”

Jaskier saw her playing with the edge of the dress sleeves. “Nervous?”

Olivia chuckled. “That obvious?” She said the sighed. “My family will be there. I’m afraid I might trip and fall. I’m not such a good dancer.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I suck. No need to look at me like that. Oh my, this was a bad idea.”

Jaskier reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Hey. Take a breath. It will be fine. I won’t let you fall.”

Oliwia nodded slowly and smiled a small smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Shall we?” the bard asked and offered his arm.

The young woman took it, a little hesitantly, and they began walking to the square.

There, a lot of people were walking around, hanging decorations made of hay or flowers at the doors and windows of their houses. Others were setting wood for a big fire and others were dancing, slowly spinning, in a small circle only they saw. The square was filled with young girls and boys who were dressed as best as they could, all the girls in a red dress.

As they stepped closer and closer, Oliwia’s hold tightened at his elbow. Jaskier slightly leaned towards her and whispered: “Remember, I won’t let you fall.”

“Oliwia,” a high voice called out and the girl turned to her right from where another girl approached them.

She seemed older. She had a back straight hair that shined in the weak light of the sun, her dress was tight against her tall body and her brown eyes pinned Oliwia down with their intensity. Jaskier felt Oliwia shiver at his side so, he hold her arm tighter.

“I’m so glad you could make it! I hope this year goes better than the last one,” the black-haired girl said than her gaze turned to Jaskier. His smirk stopped whatever words followed and before she could regain control over her voice again, music began and the pile of wood was set on fire.

“Good luck,” Oliwia said and pulled Jaskier along.

Couples started gathering around the fire, forming a circle. To be completely honest, this was not the first celebration Jaskier took place at. At some he did more than dancing, but this was the first one where he saw people clapping and cheering for the girls as the music played and sparks from the fire flew in the night air.

Jaskier took hold of Oliwia’s hand and put his other hand around her waist. Taking a long breath in, he tried to remember the steps. All of the couples started at the same time, dancing and spinning along with the wind around the fire. Oliwia kept looking at her feet.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, slowly lifting her chin with his finger. “Look up. I’ve got you.” The girl smiled and her eyes sparkled in the light of the flames. “What was that all about last year?” he ask, curious, his voice going with the music.

Oliwia smiled sadly. “I was supposed to celebrate last year. I’m older than all the girls here, but I couldn’t finish because I accidently stepped on my partner’s foot and I broke his toe. Then, no one would dance with me so, by tradition, I had to do it again this year.”

Jaskier hold back a laugh and then an idea clicked in his head. “What do you say we make the best of it, a second time?”

Oliwia frowned and before she could respond, Jaskier tightened the hold around her waist and pulled her closer, a smile spreading on his lips, and he began leading her between all of the couples around them, spinning and dancing better than he did in years. Oliwia began to giggle and soon enough she was full on laughter.

As the song came to an end, Jaskier spun her one more time, then he fell on his knee as he did a bow. The crowd erupted in applause and Jaskier stood up, breathing hard. Oliwia threw herself in his arm and Jaskier grimaced at the pain in his chest, but hugged her back.

“Thank you so much!” she said joyful and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“It has been my pleasure.”

When his eyes lifted from the girl, a cold shiver froze his breath. In front of him, hiding in the crowd, Geralt stood with his arms crossed at his chest, burning his gaze into Jaskier’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what I'm doing, but I like doing it so I'm gonna keep doing it.  
> Hope you're having a great day! :)


	3. My greatest regret, another lie

I was hard to tell what was written in Geralt’s expression. It was hard as stone and just as cold.

Following his gaze, Oliwia looked in the same direction and then back at Jaskier.

“Who’s he?” she asked.

Jaskier kept his eyes lock on Geralt. “No one.”

Oliwia puffed. “Doesn’t look like no one.”

When Jaskier didn’t respond back, she squeezed his hand, then slowly stepped away, lost in the crowd. As soon as the girl walked away, Geralt stepped forward and didn’t stop until he reached Jaskier, his eyes taking all of the bard, until they landed on his face. Jaskier tried to brush away the tension between them, for it became suffocating.

“Hello there, Geralt. You decided to join the party?” Jaskier said, forcing a smile. Geralt did not respond at first. His eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?”

“No.” Geralt said. “Follow me.”

Jaskier watched as Geralt started walking and after a moment, the bard followed him. Once they were away from the noise of the people, Geralt stopped and turned to Jaskier. Not hesitating even for a single moment, Geralt started talking.

“I have a few questions.” He began.

“Questions,” Jaskier repeated. He had a few question but he didn’t go out of his way to make a fuss about it.

Geralt hummed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I believe I was having a good time.” Jaskier responded. “I got my lute repaired.”

“This is not funny, Jaskier.” Geralt growled. “A fucking arrow punched through your chest. If you don’t stop for acting stupid, you’ll bleed to death like an idiot.”

“I’ll have you know I caught an arrow with my own hand once. It's the truth I swear!”

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this about the other night?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, swallowing hard.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “If this is about the fucking coin, I’m telling you I did not waste it on you, Jaskier. If I had, I would’ve given more. If that meant saving your life.” Before Jaskier could respond. “So you can stop trying so hard to earn them back. You can stop playing all night and sleep instead. And you can stop trying to push yourself by dancing when you should be resting.”

Jaskier laughed. Swear to all the gods, he began laughing until he chocked and then laughed his way through the hiccups. Geralt watched him with an unamused look on his face.

“Oh to all that’s sweet, you are unbelievable,” Jaskier said and wiped a tear away. “You do really think I believe any of your bullshit, right now? To your knowledge, yes, I did want to earn the coin back so you will stop acting so pity of me, and no, I am not trying to “push myself” anywhere. Sometimes I like to do a nice thing for someone else, even if that means I have to endure a little pain. It was worth it. Maybe I’ll never pass through this part of the world again, but I know I made someone’s life better by just being here this one time. I know you have no fucking clue what that is.”

His breath began to become short and iregular.

“I am a fool for caring, I know. May this be the reason which puts me into my grave! Gods only know. I am a fool for believing I’m a good person. I did a lot of fucked up things. A lot of fucked up thing have been done to me. But, I swear to whoever is there to listen to me, I could never walk around on this earth knowing I broke someone.”

Geralt looked as if he was punched in the stomach. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jaskier shook his head, taking a small step back. “Nothing. I should go get some sleep.”

Catching his arm gently, Geralt pulled Jaskier to his chest and nuzzled his cheek. The bard froze and his lungs stopped working. Geralt’s hands traveled from his hips to his back, slowly running his fingers over the tensed muscles and then one hand cupped Jaskier’s jaw.

It took all the bard’s will power to lift his arms and push at Geralt’s shoulders. “Geralt, I can’t.”

Geralt did not move. “Why?”

“Because,” Jaskier said swallowing the knot in his throat. “you’ll leave again.”

“What are you talking about?” Gerald asked, holding him tighter. “I’ve been here all along.”

Jaskier shook his head. “No. No, you haven’t. You just wanted me to tell you I loved you so you could be at peace with what you said to me all those seasons ago. You wanted to make sure I forgave you for telling at me I was the worst thing that ever happened to you.”

Hearing his words aloud and the truth behind them weakened Jaskier’s voice, his throat began to ache and the back of his head buzzed. Slowly he closed his eyes and started chanting in his mind: “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

He felt the hold around him get lose and when he opened his eyes, Jaskier expected to see Geralt gone, but he was still there, so close to his face, Jaskier could feel his breath on his nose.

“Is that what you think? That I did all of that just to make sure I’m forgiven?” Geralt said in a whisper. “Is that what you really think of me, Jaskier?”

Jaskier let out a broken laugh. “Isn’t your question a two-edged sword?” he said and Gerald frowned once again. “If I say yes,” Jaskier continued, “you’ll go on and do what you do best. You’ll ignore it all. You’ll ignore your anger, you’ll ignore me. If I say no, we’ll go back to being two strangers traveling together, but my heart is already broken, Geralt. What more can you do to it?”

Geralt lowered his gaze, nodded and kept looking away. “I can be your friend.” He murmured and Jaskier blinked, confused. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just thought. . . but it doesn’t matter now.” His gaze lifted and he took two steps back. “Let me be your friend. You can pay me the coin back if that’ll make you happy, but let yourself rest until the hole in your chest heals. Let me help. Let me be your friend, Jaskier.”

Jaskier gasped, a tear slipping out around the corner of his eye.

The next morning, Jaskier woke up with a headache. He slowly stood up on the bed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Drink this,” Geralt said, holding a cup under his nose.

Jaskier growled at the smell. “What is it?” he asking taking the cup in his hands.

“Tea.”

Taking a small sip, Jaskier concluded that it tasted better than it smelled and then took a bigger sip.

“Slowly.” Geralt added.

His voice was neither hard and demanding nor pleading. It was as if he was wishing good morning. Then Jaskier thought better at how Geralt never wished good morning and returned to his tea. He tried not to think about the events of the previous night. It still hurt every time his own words popped into his head every now and then. A small part of Jaskier regretted them, because he could actually fell the distance between him and Geralt. And it wasn’t the regular reasonable distance. Maybe he had been harsh throwing it all at the witcher. It mustn’t have been fair. Jaskier knew he lashed out and he thought that maybe it was better to apologize before it was too late.

“Hey, Geralt,” the bard said, watching Geralt pull a chair near the bed to place a plate of food on. “About last night, I’m sorry―”

“No.” Geralt simply said. “Don’t be sorry.”

Jaskier shook his head. “But I don’t us to―”

“Jaskier.” The witcher said and Jaskier looked up to him. “Stop worrying. It’s like I can almost hear you think.” He said then made a pause. Jaskier lowered his eyes back to his cup. “Eat your food. I’ll go in town for a while. Get some rest.”

Before Jaskier could say anything more, Geralt walked out of the door. Looking at the yellow liquid in the warm cup captured between his hands, Jaskier realized that it was already too late. The Witcher made up his mind and there was no turning him back. The bard couldn’t lie to himself though. It felt good to tell―or yell―for once what was playing in his mind. For far too long, the man kept all that was thrown at him inside. He was aware of the weight on his shoulders, he knew it crushed his lungs with every breath and he was scared of the day when he won’t be able to take any more. The only thing he did not believe was that he would lash out on Geralt. Of all people, he never though Geralt would be the one to hear it. His heart regretted the other night, but his mind felt lighter.

After breakfast and a good two clocks spent in bed staring at the ceiling, Jaskier became bored with his thoughts. There were too many he tried to avoid, too many he couldn’t escape from. He wished to go out and look for his friend, Oliwia―to ask her how the rest of her night went―but he only sighed and turned on his other side. He made a promise to Geralt to stay inside today and he decided to keep at least that promise.

Along the years, Jaskier made a lot of promises to himself.

_I’ll never drinking again._

_I’ll not enter another brothel again._

_I’ll go back home one day._

But no matter how many promises he made, he knew he won’t keep any of them.

_I’ll never fall in love._

_I’ll never fall in love again._

In the end, Jaskier understood that those promises were nothing more than lies told to his foolish part to keep himself moving forward. There were to many things pulling him back. What would he had become without the lies? He did not want to know.

Fighting with himself was exhausting and, after a lot of struggle, Jaskier managed to fall asleep.

Geralt did not have anything to do in particular. He had no reason to walk through the village. He did it because he couldn’t stand and watch Jaskier right now. Or for a while.

It wasn’t the bard’s fault, the witcher knew that, but when Geralt saw him the other night, dancing around the fire, the sweat on his exposed neck glowing in the light and his smile encouraging the girl in his arms, he wanted nothing more than to rip him away and devour him whole. All day he thought about the man’s expression when they talked in the inn―when Jaskier handed him the key to their room and told him he won’t be coming. In that moment something inside the witcher twitched. It felt like on old branch broke inside his stomach.

As he replayed the bard’s words in his mind, Geralt first thought that Jaskier was mad at him for what he said before, but for sure Jaskier knew that he didn’t meant it that way. He didn’t really give a fuck about the coin. Especially not then.

So, after he collected his coin for the contract, Geralt was heading back to the inn from where he wanted to take Jaskier’s broken lute and have it fixed, but then he spotted the bard at the celebration and all he saw before his eyes was black. It could’ve also been the fact that the potion hadn’t worn off yet. He was going to pick up Jaskier and drag him back to inn after the girl felt his side, but then their eyes properly met and Geralt saw the bard shivering, a sour smell filling his nostrils.

Jaskier was afraid. Geralt couldn’t understand why.

Then the man began yelling his thoughts of him out in the darkness of the night and Geralt finally understood that he had made a mistake. Now he regretted pursuing the bard to speak his feeling to him. It was a selfish act. Geralt let himself get ruled by the sensation that the thought of Jaskier reciprocating his feeling brought within his chest. He should’ve known better than to assume that what he did to the bard could’ve been forgiven so easily.

Now, as the witcher walked down on the dirty streets of the village, he tried to think of ways he could earn Jaskier’s trust back. But he did not yet have thought of any.

“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him and Geralt stopped walking.

When he turned his head, he came face to face with the blond girl Jaskier danced with. Geralt tried to sustain his growl.

“Hi!” she said and waved. When Geralt didn’t respond she cleared her throat and started playing with her dress. “My name is Oliwia. I’m, uh, I’m a friend of Jaskier’s. Could you tell me if he’s still in town?”

Geralt hummed and crossed his arms at his chest.

“Alright,” she said and Geralt could swore he saw her roll her eyes. She reached in the bag she was carrying on her shoulder and pulled out what seemed like a strap. “Could you give this to him? It’s for his lute. And tell him thanks again. I hope we’ll get to meet again.”

With that she nodded, then turned on her heels and felt. When she disappeared from his sight, Geralt looked down at the strap in his hands. It had a nice pattern carved in the skin, like golden flowers.

Having nowhere to go, and no interest anymore, Geralt went back to the inn and walked up the stairs to their room. Jaskier was sleeping on his back, with his mouth slightly open, small drops of sweat covering his forehead. Geralt pulled out a cloth and gently wiped the sweat away, his fingers touching the other man’s skin which was way too hot.

Cursing under his breath, Geralt asked the inn keeper for some cold water in which he dipped the cloth and placed it over Jaskier’s forehead. The Witcher took off his armor so he could move easier and pulled the chair closer to the bed and the bowl of water on his knee.

After a while, he managed to get the fever down a bit, even though Jaskier kept sweating and mumbling something in his sleep. Then Geralt remembered that he didn’t get to change Jaskier’s bandages since that day on the road and when he pulled up the bard’s tunic, the undershirt was soaked in blood. The idiot was bleeding for two days now and he didn’t say anything. How was he still breathing?

Without waiting for an answer (to a stupid question), Geralt got up and opened his bag with potions. Not really thinking too much, his mind clouded by the sight of all the blood on Jaskier’s clothes, Geralt opened the bottle he took to heal himself faster and poured two small drops on Jaskier’s tongue.

Even though his wounds healed almost immediately after drinking the potion, the worst part was that the process of healing hurt more than being cut open.

As soon as Jaskier swallowed the drops, his eyes popped open, a silent scream forming in his throat and on his lips. Geralt caught Jaskier’s shoulders in his hands and tried to hold the man down on the bed as he struggled in the grip.

Their eyes met and Geralt felt slapped.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said in a growl. “Geralt.”

“It’s ok. It’s ok.” He tried to reassure him. “It will pass. Just keep looking at me.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier struggled to breathe. “Geralt. . . hurts!”

Geralt tried to hush him. “I know. I know. Keep looking at me. Squeeze my hand.”

Instead of holding onto his hand, Jaskier took Geralt’s arm at his chest and beat down on his own knuckles until his body stopped shivering and he went limp, still embracing Geralt’s arm.

“I’m cold,” he murmured and Geralt felt himself breathe.

Careful, the witcher took the blanket and coved the bard up.

“I’m cold,” he repeated one more time, but there was nothing left for Geralt could cover him with, so he reached for Jaskier’s back with his other hand and began running it up and down.

Geralt continued to do that until he heard Jaskier softly snoring in the pillow, and even then the witcher kept rubbing small circles on his back, feeling the man breathe under his fingers.


	4. Life and other wonders

He did not remember falling asleep, only his eyes slowly blinking awake and the aching in his lower back. Taking in his surroundings, Geralt realized that he fell asleep half sitting on the chair and half laying on the bed with his head on his forearm. The sheets were still warm, but Jaskier was no longer there. A low sound flew with the air in the room and Geralt stood up.

Sitting on the windowsill, with one foot on the floor and his forehead leaning against the glass, Jaskier was gently touching the strings of his lute, his lips murmuring lyrics only he could hear. His cheeks had that rosy color as they always did and his hands weren’t pale anymore. They were strong and Geralt could see thick veins traveling down to his fingers.

It seemed as Jaskier was back to normal.

“Good morning, Geralt,” the bard said and Geralt looked up into his eyes.

They were of a vibrant blue, like in the sunny days of the summer when Jaskier never shut up about how he loved the warmth, how he loved the sun, how he loved the wind. His smile was just as then. The bard placed his lute down leaned against the wall and walked closer to the witcher.

“You’re feeling better,” Geralt stated.

Jaskier nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. “I am. Oh, so much better,” he said, extending his arms up above his head. “I feel like I could run miles on end. Do you want to go outside? I want to go outside. Should we pack up and leave?”

Geralt was taken aback by Jaskier’s sudden good mood. Though, it wasn’t unusual of him.

“If you feel up to it,” Geralt pointed out.

“Great. Pack the stuff and I’ll go get some food.” And with that he was out of the door.

Shaking his head, the witcher gather his things and put on his armor, then went downstairs. By the time he found Jaskier sitting at a table, the bard was already half done with his breakfast and his foot keep tapping the floor as he ate the rest. Geralt hold back the smile threatening to show. He couldn’t deny that it felt good to have the old, too happy, too energetic, Jaskier back.

Even though he promised the bard to be just his friend, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to give Jaskier the strap with the golden flowers until they were far away from the village. Jaskier took it from his hands and a sweet smile spread on his face, a shadow of it reflecting in his blue eyes.

“Thank you, Geralt,” he said, then proceeded to tie it around his lute.

They’ve been on the road for a while, Gerald walking by Jaskier’s side, pulling Roach along―or rather Roach pulling him―before it started to rain. At first the drops were warm and few, but as time passed, the soft rain turned into a powerful storm. Lucky for them, they managed to find shelter in a small cave at the foot of the mountain. Even wet from head to toe and shivering as the wind blew cold, Jaskier chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Geralt asked when he returned with a few sticks he managed to find dry enough to make a fire.

Jaskier looked up from his bag at Geralt and shook his head. “The only dry clothing in my bag is your tunic,” the bard said, pulling it out.

Geralt nodded and turned back to his sorry excuse of a fire. He tried not to think of the night he gave Jaskier his tunic. Things were just getting back to normal, so he wasn’t going to mess it up again.

“Why the long face?” Jaskier said as he stepped closer to the fire, rubbing his hands together.

Gerald hummed, turning away.

“Come one, seriously,” the bard insisted. “What’s wrong?”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt turned back and studied the other man’s face. It was calm, rested, almost happy, waiting patiently for Geralt to respond. With a sigh, the witcher pulled back his shoulders.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, gesturing with his head towards to his tunic that Jaskier wore once again.

Jaskier frowned. “You’re sorry you gave this to me?” he asked confused.

Geralt shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not,” Jaskier simply said and, when Geralt frowned his eyes at him, he continued: “I know I said some. . . things and I can’t deny the truth in most of them, but I don’t regret anything that happened between us, Geralt. I regret many moments in my life, but that night isn’t one of them.” Jaskier said and smiled sadly. “Just because I wished it meant more to you than it does, doesn’t mean it didn’t mean a lot to me. So, you don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s fine.”

His eyes lingered a few moments on Geralt’s before Jaskier turned to the fire and blew in his fists. Geralt looked at him and looked at him and then stared some more. At the way the bard’s hair fell on his forehead and curled around his eyes. At his arms and how they seemed so small in the long sleeves of his tunic. At his neck and the veins on his, pumping blood and giving the skin a rosy color. At his legs and how the bard pulled them closer to his chest to keep warm.

Geralt looked and he wanted them all. Damn be the sky and its gods if he wasn’t going to scream it so loud the peak of the mountain would trembled at the force.

“You won’t believe me if I told you it meant as much, maybe even more, to me as it did to you, will you?”

“Geralt, you don’t have to. I told you it’s fine.” Jaskier murmured, his eyes fixed on the weak flames.

Geralt nodded. “So, no. You don’t trust me.”

Jaskier sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Geralt. After all you went through a lot to keep me from dying. So, I guess, even though it sounds dumb to tell you I trust you with my life, I do. It’s more me that I don’t trust.”

“Because you make stupid decision that put you in danger?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier let out a laugh. “Mainly, yeah.”

Geralt hummed. He stood up and took a sit near the bard. “If you trust my actions, trust my words too.” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier’s shoulders trembled. “I wish, but―”

“But?”

“But. But I’m too scared to.”

Geralt hummed again and nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to say it but he was scared too. There were so many thing he was scared of. Taking a deep breath in, he slowly leaned in and pressed a small, barely touching, kiss to Jaskier’s exposed neck. “Alright.” The witcher said and stood up.

He had to arrange their beds with whatever they had, but he didn’t get far when he heard Jaskier whine.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Geralt turned his head. “We need something to sleep on. It doesn’t look like the storm will be over soon. We’ll be stuck here tonight.”

Jaskier growled deep in his throat. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m respecting your wishes,” Geralt responded calmly.

“How noble of you,” Jaskier said and turn around with a frown between his eyebrows.

Geralt shook his head. “What would you have me do instead, Jaskier?”

Jaskier waited a moment then murmured: “More.”

“More,” Geralt echoed his words. “If you want something, ask. Or be a man and demand it.”

Standing up, Jaskier came up close to Geralt, with his hands clenched into fists and breathed heavy on nose. Geralt raised his eyebrows at him in challenge. They stared at each other endless moments, neither daring to give in.

“I want,” Jaskier breathed and Geralt’s stare intensified and hummed.

“I want to,” the bard repeated and Geralt hummed again. “Stop humming!”

Geralt remained silent and a smirk appeared in the corner of his mouth. Victoriously, Jaskier titled his head and raised on his toes, but did not lean in, his blue eyes darkening.

“Kiss me like you did then. Kiss me and make me feel that you mean it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done with the hard and sad stuff. Sexy times are coming in the final chapter.  
> :  
> I'm cringe, don't mind me.


	5. Back to being us

Jaskier loved that Geralt searched his eyes before proceeding to do anything else. When he found nothing but determination in the bard’s burning gaze, Geralt captured his waist with one arm and pulled him close to his chest. The Witcher's breath was hot against Jaskier’s skin and the bard’s eyes closed heavily. His heart was beating fast but sure; it was no longer afraid of how much Geralt could hurt him, because there was no way that could be. Not anymore.

The first touch of their lips was brief, like a cold breeze on a hot day of summer. Jaskier could swear he felt Geralt smile before he captured his lips again, kissing him just as he kissed him in the inn, on that night, when Jaskier felt safer than he felt in a long time. Geralt’s lips were chapped but soft and firm, covering the bard’s entirely.

“What else do you want?” Geralt asked when he pulled them apart.

Jaskier raised on his toes and circled his arms lazily around the Witcher’s neck. He hummed and pressed his forehead against Geralt’s neck. “I won’t say ‘make love to me’ because you’ll laugh at me,” Jaskier said and Geralt smirked. “But I want you to let me ruin you for anyone else.”

“Hm. Only if you’ll let me do the same to you.” Came the response.

Jaskier smirked. “I’d love to see you try, oh you mighty Witcher.”

When Geralt’s eyes darkened, a shiver ran up Jaskier's spine and, as if he weight nothing, Geralt lift him up, holding him in the circle of his arms. Jaskier let out a laugh, rolling his eyes, and then he captured Geralt’s hips with his leg for support.

As Geralt’s lips traveled down his neck, covering every inch of skin in sweet kisses, Jaskier’s mind started wondering.

“Are we going to do it standing?” he asked in a whisper. Not that he minded at all, but he was only curios.

Geralt growled and his lips left Jaskier's neck. “If you recall, I was going to arrange something, but you interrupted me like a brat.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said with a whimper as Geralt turned his attention back to his neck. “Not that I don’t love hearing your voice, but could you do more and talk less?”

With nothing more than a hum, Geralt let the bard slid down his chest until his feet touched the ground, then he stepped away and walked to their bags. Jaskier stood back and watched the Witcher pulled out blankets and dried clothes, shortly walking around to find a good enough spot on the hard rocks of the cave. He then arranged what seemed more like a nest than a bed. When he was done, Geralt stood up and extended his hand with his palm up towards Jaskier, a calm, almost happy grin painting his face. It took all of Jaskier will power to not skip as he walked to Geralt and took his hand. His heart surely did.

Taking him back into his arms, Geralt kissed him again. This time it was faster, harder, deeper, so forceful, Jaskier could feel his eagerness, so he gave back just as much. He kissed Geralt like yesterday didn’t exist and tomorrow was just a myth. His hands tangled in the Witcher’s white hair, holding onto it, messing it around, which made Geralt kiss him even harder. If he wasn’t fully aware about the impossibility of it, Jaskier could swear Geralt was caressing his very heart as the Witcher's lips kissed his.

Too drank on everything Geralt was doing to him, Jaskier did not notice that now he was laying on the blankets with the Witcher holding himself above with one hand, the other slowly feeling Jaskier's side, all the way down to his hip, then over his thigh and knee, where Geralt took hold of him and pulled his leg around his waist. Jaskier took that advantage to pull the Witcher impossibly close. Geralt hummed and began kissing every part of Jaskier face, his eyes, his rosy cheeks, his nose and the line of his jaw, before he kissed his lips again. One of Geralt’s hands closed over the tunic Jaskier was wearing and crumpled it in his fist.

“Don’t rip it,” Jaskier gasped and let go of Geralt long enough to take it off.

Geralt rolled his eyes, but did the same with the top of his armor. Jaskier shivered at the cold air touching his bare skin. The Witcher look him in the eye then reached for another blanket which he dropped over both of them, trying to keep in the warmth of their body pressed together.

Jaskier smiled and soon enough they were both naked and rubbing against each other, both reaching for the other in every way they could. The bard had one leg around the Witcher’s waist and the other tangled with Geralt’s legs, his hands massaging the scared back of his lover. The muscles tensed and relaxed as his fingers caressed the hot skin and Jaskier felt like he could scream at how good it felt. Every inch of him from the waist up was sore from Geralt’s mouth and hands, but Jaskier couldn’t help but moan for more.

Geralt took a hell lot of time preparing him with the oil he found in the bard’s bag. By the time Geralt was satisfied with his work, Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from squirming. Before pushing in, Geralt cupped the bard’s cheek and rested their foreheads together. Once he was fully in, Jaskier let out a long, deep growl.

“Move! Fuck, Geralt, for all that’s sinful in the world, move!”

Kissing him with a small smirk on his lips, Geralt started trusting slowly and deeply, pushing all the air out of Jaskier’s lungs. He could not stop gasping and moaning, fighting for breath as his hands wondered on Geralt’s skin: The skin of his trembling shoulders, of his tensed stomach and around his lovely bottom, which Jaskier couldn’t help but squeeze in his hands. The growl Geralt let out and the hard trust his hips gave was worth the ache in Jaskier arms.

“Julian,” Geralt moaned and Jaskier whole body tensed up, a silent scream forming in his throat.

When the bard tightened around Geralt, the Witcher bit down on the space between his neck and shoulder, spitting hot inside the bard. It made Jaskier shiver exhausted one more time, before he went limp. Resting on top of the man, Geralt breathed heavily against his jaw. Lazily, Jaskier raised a hand and began playing with the Witcher’s hair, trying carefully to untangle it.

A few moments passed while none of them moved, until Geralt hummed and rose to take Jaskier's tunic, which he used to wipe away the mess between them.

“You can take that back,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt looked at the clothing then back at Jaskier with a frown on his face. “You don’t want it anymore. Why?” he asked.

Jaskier smiled and caressed Geralt’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “It smells of my sweat,” the bard answered. “Not like you anymore. You can give me another one instead.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and threw the tunic away, settling back against the bard’s chest. And so they both drifted off to sleep. Before closing his eyes, Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking that, despite puffing in denial at the bard’s words, Geralt made love to him that night. There was nothing else that could describe it better.

In the morning the storm was long gone so, Jaskier and Geralt packed up and continued on their path, just like always. Geralt had his hand around Roach’s string, walking along side her, and Jaskier was softly playing his lute.

“It sure sounds a little different, but I think I can work with it,” Jaskier commented. Geralt hummed. “It’s sad that you didn’t get to meet Oliwia. I think you would’ve get along well.”

Geralt didn’t say anything for a long while, so Jaskier assumed he was just not interested.

“I did.”

If Jaskier weren’t close enough to Geralt, he would’ve missed it.

“You did? When?” the bard asked.

Geralt took a quick glance at him before turning back to the road ahead of them.

“She gave me the strap.”

Raising both his eyebrows, Jaskier analyzed closer the strap. That was when he finally recognized the golden flowers. They were the same as the ones on Oliwia’s dress, the one she wore the night of the celebration. A smile spread on his face and Geralt hummed a low growl deep in his throat. Jaskier looked back at him and smirked.

“Were you really jealous of Oliwia?” the bard asked, matching Geralt’s pace.

Geralt hummed. “Truth?”

“Truth.” Jaskier searched Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt sighed and looked back at the bard with the same intensity. “I wanted to crash her head in my hand.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop the laugh bursting out of his lungs. “Oh my! Remember me to never piss you off,” Jaskier said and stepped closer to Geralt, carefully taking the collar of the Witcher's armor in his fist and pulling him in a kiss.

Geralt hummed. “You piss me off every day.” He said, smiling softly against Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and stepped away. He began walking, continuing the song as he skipped steps from time to time. Geralt watched him for a brief while, then shook his head and followed the bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!  
> Thank you! It has been a pleasure writing for you. :)


End file.
